The Solution
by TomParis7
Summary: Sherlock fanfic. Post Reichenbach. Written like the first episode of season 3. Lets just call it Sherlock- Season 3, Episode 1. :) Enjoy!


_This is my first story I've ever posted! Please enjoy :) _

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the fantastic characters. All the rights go to BBC and Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss. **

The Solution:

A dark silhouette flitted in and out of the trees, moving so fast, it was a blur. A rugged panting was issuing from his mouth as he ran. There were hurried footfalls behind him and he changed direction so quickly that he slipped on the loose rock around the area. Scrabbling back up to his feat, he continued to run, however, his pursuer was gaining on him. Suddenly a bullet whizzed past him, ruffling his hair. Another bullet was lodged into the tree next to him, while two more barely missed him. The silhouette yanked a gun from his inside jacket and shot at random behind him, he heard the sound of a body falling and glanced back. His aim was true, without hesitation he began to run again, changing directing once more. He looked behind him again and saw that the trees around him were empty. He slowed to a halt, clutching a stitch in his side. The man looked down at the gun he was holding and gave a slight smile. Then, slowly his breath began to clear, he sank to the forest floor, gazing around, and he suddenly had no idea where he was.

….

"Where in the hell is my gun?" Doctor John Watson said to the empty room. He began ruffling through drawers and papers and got to his hands and knees and peeked under the dresser. Nothing. John straightened up again and looked around the room. It was in complete chaos. The table was upturned; books lay torn and scattered on the floor. John fought back the pain and anger he had been feeling for almost a month. This was his first visit to his and Sherlock's old flat, and he could barely stand looking around the place because when he did memories came rushing back like a tide of waves, suffocating him. So he had made a decision, he would go and collect his stuff, and leave, find a new flat mate, and start another life. However, it was harder then he had expected. Most of his stuff had moved around greatly in the two years he lived here. Shoving a few books into his case, he saw a London A-Z on the bookshelf. He allowed himself a smile, but regretted it almost at once when he felt the sharp pain of Sherlock's death come over him again.

"DAMN YOU!" He said, looking directly at the wall opposite him where a yellow smiley face was painted. He remembered distinctly coming home one day to find Sherlock blasting holes in the wall with his gun.

_Why did you have to die, Sherlock?_ Watson thought desperately. He suddenly heard footsteps on the stairs, and looked up hopefully. Mrs. Hudson, the landlady, stood in the doorway holding a tea tray.

"Hello John dear," She said, idling at the doorway, as though afraid to come in.

"Oh hello, Mrs. Hudson…" Watson looked hurriedly back down at his packing, not quite knowing who he was expecting to see come through that door.

"Was that you shouting just a minute ago? You make as much racket as Sher" She stopped abruptly at the look on John's face. "Sorry dear," She added kindly, "I still can't believe it myself…" her face became suddenly distant, as though lost in through. John knew how she felt, because he couldn't believe he was dead either.

"I'll just make some tea shall I?" She said, shuffling forward and heading into the kitchen. John just nodded and resumed his packing.

….

Sherlock Holmes lay asleep against a tree, sighing in his sleep. He awoke so suddenly that one would have thought he was prodded awake.

"I'm up…" He said groggily, straightening up and looking around. _How long has it been? Four hours? Five?_ There was a tint of pink in the sky high above him, which told him it was around mid-morning. Standing up, he picked up John's gun and pulled out his phone from his pocket. Dead. Sherlock grimaced and pocketed the phone again. He put his fingers to his temple. _Think, Sherlock, think._

"SHUT UP!" He yelled to the birds around him, "I NEED TO GET TO MY MIND PALACE!" The birds in the trees around him took flight. Sherlock sighed and screwed up his mind, thinking hard.

Images began to pop into his head, distinct markings on trees, certain rocks, and moving his hands through thin air, as though shaking off cobwebs, he ordered his thoughts. He soon began to create a map in his head, and heading back in the way he ran earlier that day, he began to retrace his steps. Soon he came upon the man he had shot. Bending over the body, he pulled out his handheld magnifying glass and examined every inch of the body.

_Dirty, bruises around the knuckles and wrists, large triangular ring on right index finger, mud on boots; river mud, socks wet, a slight crease in his left pocket, a budge of the right jacket pocket; for a gun. Chest is bruised, heart condition._ Holmes checked his pockets and found a medical brochure folded in his pocket and a cell phone. No service. _Shame_ he thought, pocketing both items then turning to the dead man's gun. _Semi-Automatic, 10 rounds in a gun,_ _Four rounds left, 4 were shot for me, what about the other two bullets? Judging by the gun's gleaming quality it was purchased recently. _

Sherlock finished his analysis and quickly took off his coat he turned it inside out and placed both guns, his wallet, the dead man's phone and his now useless phone in his inside pockets, then he switched the mans clothes with his own, put on the top hat and smiled. He remembered the last time he disguised himself, the last time was more painful as it involved John punching him in the face. After he finished, he felt like a new person and was certain no one would recognize him. Then he continued on, the map in his brain clear again.

….

"Well, I read a lot… and play the piano."

"And what's your profession?"

"Banker."

At this, John Watson gave a slight smile. _A banker… _he thought, puffing his cheeks full of air. _A nice dull job._

"Alright, sounds good, when can I move in?" By the end of the day, John had moved in to his new flat mates house. He now lived with a man named Adam Johnson in a small three room flat on Westminster Avenue. John intended to leave his other life far behind him. He had gotten a job at the hospital down the street and it was now a month and a week since Sherlock had died. Now, John had begun to think of his life in two sections; pre-Sherlock and post-Sherlock. Bother of them where quite depressing and the only part he had truly enjoyed was the one in the middle, the Sherlock section. John had begun to feel dull and unimportant without him. He supposed it beat the alternative, but his life was quieter then it had ever been and he disliked the quiet. Everyday felt as though he was just drifting along, with no purpose, and no end result.

On one particularly rainy day, John was trudging down the street when he heard the phone in the booth next to him begin to ring. He stopped so suddenly that a couple behind him had to swerve to avoid him. He did not notice however, and continued to stare at the telephone box. The ringing continued, filling John's head like an alarm. Without thinking, he pulled open the door and stepped inside the box. Slowly, he picked up the receiver.

"John Watson." A man's voice said on the other end.

"Mycroft?" John asked, a disbelieving note in his voice.

"I went by your flat earlier, but you were gone." The voice said.

"My flat? Mycroft, is that you?"

"Do not look now, but there is a man on the building next to you. He has a gun pointed in you direction."

"What?" John said, nearly dropping the phone in surprise then added, "Mycroft? What in the hell is going on?"

"I can say no more now, no doubt this call will be intercepted in a few moments, that is why I must talk quickly." The voice said, an urgent note spiking his voice now.

"Your getting old Mycroft, you used the same method twice…"

"Follow these instructions to the letter," the voice said as though he didn't hear him, "when we are done talking you will walk out of the telephone box and head down the street two blocks toward the intersection. There is a coffee shop on the corner of Stanford and Southwalk. Go inside, and order a coffee, sit at the table right next to the window and wait. There will be someone there who will give you more instructions when he gets there, is that clear?"

John stood in shock for a moment then stammered, "y-yes."

"Good, oh and one more thing… don't use your umbrella." And the call ended with a snap.

….

Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade walked into the police station with Sergeant Sally Donovan. They had just come back from a crime scene where a John Doe was shot to death.

"Make sure you get the ballistics report to me within the hour and get Anderson and Jackson to search through nearby dustbins for the poor bloke's ID." Lestrade said as he walked, then headed to his office. His secretary notified him that he had two messages waiting for him before Lestrade shut his door. He listened to the messages and then got a call from Molly Hooper at St Bartholomew's Hospital saying that the corner's report was ready. Running his hands through his short, graying hair, he heaved a deep sigh and opened the door again.

"Donovan!" He shouted across the room.

"Coming!" She said, hurrying after him down the hallway heading toward the doors. Lestrade could see a crowd of people congregating outside the front doors.

"Aw hell…" Lestrade murmured, "Press. Alright, just keep your head down and they don't need any comment, just push past them, alright?" He looked at Donovan who nodded, an exasperated look on her face. Together they pushed open the double doors and a swarm of reporters pushed in on them.

"What are your thought's and the 'faker' Sherlock Holmes?"

"You were always close with Sherlock Holmes. Did you see this coming?"

"Do you think he killed himself because of the story printed about him?"

"What are your relations to Moriarty? Did Sherlock kill all those people?"

"What are the whereabouts of John Watson?"

Lestrade pushed his way past the reporters and nearly ran to his car. After slamming the doors Lestrade exhaled loudly.

"Unbelievable." Donovan said, slamming the passenger door as well, "How can one man, cause _that_ much trouble?"

"I still can't believe it…" Lestrade added, "I mean come on! Sherlock Holmes, a fake? Honestly, I've been working for years with him and he can't have solved all of those cases if he had help. He seemed so genuine."

"So many people do…" Donovan said, giving him a sideways glance. Lestrade knew what she was thinking. She was right, she had pinned him a fraud from the beginning and stuck with it. Lestrade however, didn't want to hear it. He didn't want to believe that one; Sherlock was a fake, and two; that he was dead. Shaking his head dismissively, Lestrade put the car into gear and headed down the road.

….

Sherlock reached the edge of the forest about an hour later and stopped to look at his surroundings. Clouds obscured the sun and a light rain was creating small puddles like tiny mirrors around him. Sherlock's stomach gave a sudden howl and he just then realized how hungry he was. _Food is boring, eating is for dull people, _he thought and pushed it out of his mind for he had more important things to worry about. It looked as though thing's had not been going as planned and he had to improvise as only he could. So once again he set off down a dirt road, he could hear distant cars rumbling along a nearby highway, and he reached the main road. He flagged down a taxi and rumbled down the street in it. Sherlock pulled out the dead man's phone; it now had service, and dialed out a number and typed the following message:

One of them knows, but he is no longer a threat, using his phone. I will be in touch sooner then expected.

Look after John for me,

SH

He hit send and pocketed the phone once more.

"This corner café will do just fine, thank you." Sherlock instructed the Taxi driver ten minutes later. He paid the fair and got out. He looked up the street and with a jolt saw his best and only friend John Watson, walking nervously in his direction. Quickly hiding his face, he entered the café, slipped past the front counter into the kitchen. He flung an apron around himself and put on a chef's hat. He began to pretend to cook, all the while watching the door.

….

"Mrs. Hooper, please tell me you can ID the body?" Lestrade said as he entered the morgue.

"David Levage." She answered, gesturing him forward. "32- worked in some position in the British government."

"The British Government?" Lestrade repeated, "How on Earth do you know about that?"

"His dental work actually, when Sherlock was here he told me there would-" Molly gasped and stopped abruptly when she mentioned his name and lowered her eyes to the floor.

"It's alright, I miss him to." Lestrade said, patting her shoulder then he added kindly, "What else did you find?"

"Well," Molly began, beckoning them toward the body, " The ballistics report said the bullet came from a 5 caliber and he did not own that kind of gun." Molly paused then added, "There is one more thing…"

"And what's that?" Donovan asked,

"This man was killed by a gun a long rang, but the bullet is accurate. He was killed by a sniper."

….

"I'll just have a cup of coffee." John Watson said nervously, looking over his shoulder. After he paid, he strode to the table right next to the window. A few tentative minutes later John looked up at the sound of the doorbell tinkling. A man walked purposely over to John's table and sat opposite him. John and the man stared at each other for a few moments then the man said, "You are in grave danger Mr. Watson."

"Yeah, I figured out that much for myself with the whole phone call." John said in an amused tone.

"This is no laughing matter." The man said flatly. John rolled his eyes when he wasn't' looking then said, "So are you going to tell me what in the hell is going on?"

"Mr. Watson, what is your relationship with Jim Moriarty?"

"My-" Watson looked up incredulously at the man, "My relationship? Moriarty?"

"Please answer the question Mr. Watson, we don't have time to mess around."

"Ok, ok. He was Sherlock's-" John swallowed, "antagonizer…. I would say… he and Sherlock-"

"I do not care about his relationship with Sherlock Holmes, what about his relationship with you?"

John was taken aback by this, he was sure that this man was here to ask questions about Sherlock. "Well he kidnapped me and strapped me to a bomb once, does that count as a relationship?" John sensed that wasn't the answer the man wanted. "Look, I don't know who you are or why you are interested in Moriarty, but I mean, he had a grudge against Sherlock and I was Sherlock's partner, so he had a grudge against me as well…" Still the man didn't answer.

"What else do you want me to say?" John asked, throwing his hands into the air.

"Jim Moriarty is dead." The man said simply. John stared at him opened mouthed.

"He was found on the same building where Sherlock Holmes jumped off of. He was shot in the head. It looks like Mr. Holmes shot him and then killed himself."

"No!" John said unexpectedly.

"My thoughts exactly." The man replied.

"Why could you think that- wait, hold on" John stopped mid sentence, "you don't believe that either?"

"No I do not, Mr. Watson, but there are a great deal of people in the British Government who do. Including that sniper sitting on that building opposite us waiting to kill you."

John felt nervous but decided to not look at the building in question.

"However," the man continued, "there are few of us who were fired for speaking our minds, myself included."

"Wait-" Watson said again, "You got fired from the British Government? What about Mycroft? He doesn't believe that rubbish about Sherlock dose he?"

"No he does not. He, however, did not speak his opinion that Sherlock did not kill Jim Moriarty and therefore, it our inside man. I have gone rogue with others who got fired. A few were even killed for it."

There was a shocked silence that met his words, and then John found his voice and said, "I don't understand… someone was killed…?"

"Let me explain, there are those in the British Government who turned to the side of the consulting criminal, however, no one knows who to trust." He took a sip of coffee then continued, "And like I said there are only a few of us who know who they are, so when our friend David Levage was unfortunate enough to try and confront one of these men, and was killed for it. But there are more of us out there, and we can name the men who were in league with Moriarty but could not uncover them without getting shot. Therefore, we got ourselves fired and have gone rogue."

"And what has this got to do with me?" John asked.

"Everything. You are the main source of the information."

"What information?"

"You knew Moriarty almost better then anyone in the British Government, you and Sherlock Holmes got closets to him."

"But I didn't know any of his plans, or anything that he was doing, Sherlock knew most of it… and he's dead, so…" John couldn't go on… the thought of his old friends death was still painful. There was another moment's silence then the man glanced at his watch,

"Good lord. Look at the time, I need to talk quickly."

….

Detective Inspector Lestrade set up a meeting with the victims' family and was on his way to their house. He had sent Donovan to check at Levage's workplace. When Lestrade arrived he found that the door was already open.

"Hello?" He said from the doorway, his hand twitching to his gun nervously.

"Come on in, I've got a nice fresh cupper brewing." Said a woman's voice from inside the house. Lestrade pushed open the door and saw a woman bustling into the living room carrying a tray.

"Please sit down." Said the woman kindly, handing him a cup of tea, "Your Inspector Lestrade I spoke to earlier?"

"Yes ma'am. And you are Mrs. Humphrey?"

"Call me Clara dear." The old woman said.

"Yes alright, Clara, what was your relationship with Mr. Levage?"

"He was my nephew." She said sadly, "His parents died when he was only a kid, and he moved to London when he was fifteen. To come an' live with me. He was a kind boy, David, smart too!"

"When was the last time you saw him?"

"Oh, must have been around a year ago, he came to visit me during Christmas time and then he rushed back off to work the next day."

"And that was the last time?"

"Yes, it was." She said, taking a sip of tea.

"What kind of work did he do in the British Government?"

"Oh it was something real secret… he never gave me details, but he told me he was doing protecting our country."

Lestrade was frustrated, it sounded like David worked in the Secret Service but there was no way of telling. He just hoped that Donovan was doing better on her end. Lestrade finished his tea, thanked the woman, and left. On his way back his phone buzzed in his pocket. He picked it up and found only three words there.

London Underground, Now.

….

"You will not act out of the normal, you are to finish your coffee and be on your way. You will head down the street one block where Mycroft will pick you up in a taxi. He will give you more instructions." The man waited to see the way John reacted.

"Is there any point in a proper meeting anymore?" John asked. The man just stared. John heaved a great sign and downed the rest of his coffee. Then he stood up to leave. Once John was gone, the man hurried back out to the street. Meanwhile, back at the coffee shop, Sherlock gave a slight smile, and then hurried through the kitchen, and out the back door.

He ran along the alley toward the street. He now headed down the street and took a turn at the next alley he came across. He sprinted down the alley and ran along the side when the street began to slope downward. Sherlock ran until he reached the London Underground, he leaned against the wall and watched as people went right past him, without looking in his direction. The nearest Tube went by and people got on and off. Sherlock waited…

….

John was in total bewilderment as he strode down the street. _This is ruddy stupid._ John thought as he walked. He had now reached the end of the block and saw a young woman waiting for him, she held the Taxi door open and he got inside.

"Hello John." Said a voice from the drivers seat,

"Hello Mycroft."

….

"What do you mean? Who sent that text?" Donovan said over the phone,

"I don't bloody well know, do I?" Came Lestrade's voice, "I sounds like something Sherlock would do…." Lestrade trailed off. Sally heard a hint of sadness in his voice.

"And what does it say?"

"It says 'London Underground, Now.' What does that mean? It sounds like a trap."

"Who knows," Said Sergeant Donovan, shuffling some papers on her desk. "But I think you should check it out."

"But what if it is a trap?" Asked Lestrade.

"Well, you can call for backup, and you have a gun. I think it's important you go." Donovan replied.

"Alright. Alright." Lestrade agreed, "Oh, what did you find at his office?"

"Absolutely nothing." Donovan said, frustrated, "there was no sign he even worked there, but his co-workers said that he had, and they had already cleaned out his office. I tried to tell them that was against police protocol but they wouldn't listen."

"Yeah, I got very little information from the Aunt too… There is defiantly something they're not telling us."

"Well, you should go, and I'll follow up on our Victim, see where he went in his last hours." Donovan said, and hung up the phone. As she walked out of the room she muttered to herself, "I damn well hope your right about this, Freak."

….

"What in the hell is going on?!" John Watson yelled from the back seat.

"In time, John, in time." Mycroft replied.

"No! Not in time!" John took a deep shuttering breath then said more calmly, "Please, Mycroft, tell me what is going on." His words were followed by silence. Watson looked out of the window at the streets tumbling by him. They drove farther South until they reached a street that looked far to familiar for John's liking.

"Go." Mycroft said simply, "You will meet Mrs. Hudson inside for tea."

"Go- Mycroft!" Watson hollered, "I can't go in there!"

"Come now, it's only a flat."

"Only a-only a flat! This is Sherlock's flat for crying out loud! Aren't you even a bit torn up about him being _dead_?"

"Will grief help me overcome it and move on?" Mycroft replied.

"Brilliant," John said sarcastically, "You know, you are really the least person I want to talk to right now. Your really _just_ what I need!"

"It's for you own safety." Mycroft said simply. John got out of the car and cursing under his breath he came upon the door of 221B Baker St.

John took a huge breath and knocked on the door to his old flat. Mrs. Hudson's face appeared at the doorway a few moments later.

"John!" She exclaimed, and let him in, "How are you dear?" She asked.

"Fine." John lied, feeling his heart wrench.

"No your not," she said kindly, "but you will be. These things take time."

John nodded, not believing her, and flowed her up the stairs. He felt more pangs of sorrow as they past Sherlock's old flat and kept walking. They entered a small room that she lived in. John had never been in here, but liked it.

"Nice place this," John gestured around the room then took a seat. Mrs. Hudson brought over a tea tray and a plate of biscuits. John muttered his thanks and she sat down opposite him.

….

Lestrade parked outside the entrance to the London Underground he began to wonder where he was to go in the London Underground until his phone buzzed again. He read the text that said,

Westminster Tube.

Lestrade laid his hand on his gun, inside his jacket and walked toward the nearest Tube. He approached it carefully and looked down at his phone again, _am I supposed to get on the Tube?_ He was just thinking about buying a ticket and riding the tube when a voice behind him said, "Afternoon, Lestrade." The Inspector turned around and his mouth fell open. "No." Lestrade said, "Your dead. No." And he turned to leave, not believing what he was seeing.

"You shouldn't do that." Said the voice. Lestrade turned around again,

"What in the bloody hell is going on? Is this some kind of trick?"

"I tend not to like tricks."

"Sherlock?" Lestrade asked

"Obviously. Who else could I be?"

"I don't know, because your dead!"

"That was easily faked. But unfortunately Moriarty had a few more fans then expected, that is why I asked you here." Sherlock said, "Now, will you lower your voice so I can inform you about what is going on?"

"You're a bastard! A ruddy bastard!" Lestrade yelled at Sherlock, "How could you do this to me, and Mrs. Hudson, and-" Lestrade inhaled a large breath, "and did you think what you did to Watson!"

"It had to be done," Sherlock replied coolly.

Lestrade paced up and down, breathing fast. Then he finally stopped in front of Sherlock and said, "But the papers,"

Sherlock sighed at this, "Ah you read the papers do you? _Suicide of a fake genius. _It was a brilliant way to spread lies."

"Then why did you fake your own suicide?"

"That's not important," Sherlock, said quickly, "Now, will you allow me the courtesy to tell you my plan before they come looking for us."

Lestrade heaved a huge sigh and said, "I'm guessing I have no choice…"

Sherlock and Lestrade stood in the corner a few yards away from the train.

"So start from the beginning" Lestrade said, his arms crossed.

"No time for that" Sherlock said quickly, "There are a few things you need to know."

"Fire away," Lestrade said, rolling his eyes.

"Have you spoken to John"

"What? No. Why?"

"Because you are in danger and-" Lestrade began to speak, but Sherlock cut him off.

"Pay attention, please. Moriarty is dead."

"What?" Lestrade yelled. Passers by turned to look at them. "Sorry. How?" He whispered.

"He shot himself." Sherlock replied.

"That doesn't sound like him. Why would he do that?"

"Oh, you don't get it do you?" Sherlock threw his hands in the air, "good lord you're slow." Lestrade gave Sherlock an annoyed expression.

"Don't you see? It was in the computer codes! He made them up and pulled some strings. He's dead because he could only stop them." Sherlock said.

"Stop who?"

"Oh keep up, will you? The sniper, who were going to shot you, Mrs. Hudson, and John, I faked my death because it was necessary." These words were followed by silence.

"So you're saying…" Lestrade said slowly, "That if you didn't jump, a sniper would kill us?"

"Precisely."

"So your not a fake?" Lestrade said.

"What-no." Sherlock said, taken aback. "That was just a story that _Moriarty_ cooked up."

"Then you're going to have a hard time getting the press to believe you." Lestrade said in a matter of fact tone.

"I think the fact that I'm alive is proof enough that it takes only a genus could pull it off."

"Yeah, um… how did you do that?"

"Later." Sherlock said, pulling out his phone, "And the press is the least of my worries."

"What do you mean, the least?"

"The British Government has turned to the idea that you and John are involved in helping me plot with Moriarty. John has had snipers on him all day and my brother is getting involved." Sherlock said.

Lestrade was stunned, "What? But that's ridiculous!"

"Quite." He said calmly, "However, when the government set their minds on something it is difficult to convince them otherwise, so this is where you come in."

"Me?"

"Yes you, I want you to give an interview with the press, stop all the rumors that you or John are involved. Then you are to go to my flat where John will be waiting."

"And what I'm I supposed to tell him?" Lestrade said.

"Tell him to give the press an interview and stop all the rumors as well. And you must not, under any circumstances, tell him that I am alive."

"You're joking!"

"I don't like jokes, they accomplish noting, they distract people from the ultimate goal." Sherlock said, folding his arms.

"So your saying you want me to get involved with the press, then go tell a grieving man that he need to do an interview about his dead best friend, and I can't even tell him your alive?"

"Yes." Sherlock said simply, "Is there a problem?"

"Do you know what that's going to do to him? He is probably in a bad way already, this will crush him." Lestrade raised his eyebrows at him.

"Oh he'll get over it." Replied Sherlock

"No. He wont, Sherlock," Lestrade retorted, "Watson was nothing but a sad guy with a limp before he met you. He was a mess and you fixed him. You were what he needed to get over the war. Do you think I don't see him trailing you like a puppy all around Scotland Yard? You two are inseparable and now, you broke him. Your death was the worst thing that happened to him, and not knowing your alive will hurt him more then help. I promise you, that if you don't tell him soon, he will never treat you the same again."

"Why?" It was Sherlock's turn to look confused.

"Because you broke his trust," Lestrade said.

"Yes, but it's for his own safety! Who cares if he doesn't trust me, as long as he's safe?"

"You may not know it now, but you need him too. You were not a very nice person when he met you, and he made you-" Lestrade paused, "someone what human." Lestrade answered, giving him a long stare, "because I'm having a hard him trusting you now as well."

….

Mycroft Holmes watched as Watson entered his old flat. Then he drove the taxi down the street and a man flagged him down. He pulled over and the man jumped in, shaking the hair out of his eyes.

"That was close." Said the man from the coffee shop.

"You must be more careful, Owen. David is dead and you must watch your back, there are few we can trust." Mycroft insisted.

"I know," Owen said and pulled a gun from his inside jacket. "And you should be more careful on who you trust."

"You?" Mycroft gasped.

"Enough chatter, now drive." Owen said. Mycroft stared at the gun's barrel in complete shock.

"Now." Owen drove the gun into his temple.

"Where?" Mycroft asked, his hands shaking slightly.

"Baker Street please, if you don't mind"

…

John and Mrs. Hudson were sitting drinking tea when they heard a knock on the door.

"Could you get that dear? My hip is acting up." Mrs. Hudson asked.

John nodded and trotted downstairs to the door. He opened it and found a gun pointed straight at his face.

"Ah. Mr. Watson. The man of the hour." Owen said.

"You? But-" John was cut off when he saw who was standing behind him.

"Mycroft? What is going on? Are you in on this?" Watson asked

"Oh no, he's just my first hostage. Now let's get inside were our conversation can be more private."

….

Sherlock checked the phone he had stolen from the man, and saw there was no texts.

"He still hasn't responded…" He said absentmindedly.

"Who?"

"My brother. He should have texted me back by now." Sherlock sighed heavily, "He's in trouble."

"Well, he could have just left his phone or forgot-" Lestrade began.

"No. Mycroft doesn't forget, therefore he is in danger." Interrupted Sherlock. Then without another word, he began to walk briskly back up to the main road.

"Are you coming?" He yelled to the Inspector. Lestrade quickly followed and they soon flagged down a taxi and Sherlock instructed the driver where to go. Minutes passed in anticipated silence and they finally pulled up to the curb. Sherlock tossed some money to the driver and got out. He reached 221b and noticed everything in quick precession.

_Muddy footprints of large feet, size 10, firmly planted directly outside the door. Footprints are easily recognizable so this person was out in the rain for a while. Walking mainly on his toes, he was running slightly. Splinted wood on door edges but no forced entry, door was slammed shut. Man stayed there, for a few moments, holding something by the position of his feet. The right foot was further out then the other. Someone else was behind him, muddy footprints, expensive shoes, standing approximately four and a half inches from the other set. This man was standing straight in one place, however, they walk inside shaking. Conclusion, someone was put in danger and forced into the house. _

"John!" Sherlock gasped, and burst through the door, Lestrade following. Sherlock took the stairs two at a time, and then heard noises coming from his own flat. He burst through the door to revel John Watson, Mrs. Hudson, and his brother were all tied to chairs, with three men at their gunpoint.

He whole room seemed to freeze when Sherlock Holmes burst through the door. Everyone stared at him, and Sherlock was the first to recover. He crossed the room in two strides and punched the first man in the jaw. The other to men pointed their guns at Sherlock, but Lestrade was too quick for them. He pulled out his own pistol and screamed, "Sherlock, duck!" Sherlock bent his knees just in time to feel a bullet whizzing past his head and hit the second gunman directly in the chest. This gave Sherlock time to kick the legs out from under the last man, Owen, and pull out John's gun.

"That was far to easy." Sherlock said, training his gun on Owen, "You have been a busy man." And with that, Sherlock kicked him in the head, knocking him out cold. Then he looked around the room and said lightly, "That went well."

….

John Watson felt numb. He didn't really notice the three men get knocked to the ground because his eyes were focused on Sherlock.

_But that's not Sherlock, _he told himself, _Sherlock is dead. That blow to the head must be giving me hallucinations. _But then, why was the hallucination untying him, and turning around to face him, and saying things like, 'John, are you alright?' Then reality began to tell him what he was seeing. He stared into Sherlock's face. It was _him. _And at this thought, John Watson stood up in one fluid motion and punched Sherlock Holmes directly in the face.

"John!" Sherlock yelled as he went in for a second punch.

"You." Punch. "Lied." Punch. "To." Punch. "Me!"

"John! Listen to me!" Sherlock yelled over John's shouts. He grabbed John's fits to stop him beating him to a pulp. John sank down to the floor and looked up at Sherlock.

"You're bleeding," Sherlock said, grabbing a nearby towel and attempting to dab the wound on John's head. John pushed it away roughly and took steadying breaths.

"How?" John said through gritted teeth.

"How what?" Sherlock asked.

"HOW IN THE RUDDY HELL ARE YOU ALIVE?" Watson yelled.

"That can wait." Sherlock said quickly, "We haven't got much time."

"Then you will make time, Sherlock Holmes!" Mrs. Hudson shouted from the corner, she had sat motionless until then, now she was on her feet glaring at Sherlock with a rage that he had never seen in her eyes before.

"Brother." Mycroft said, standing up, holding an icepack to his arm, "They need to know."

"Know- know…" John stammered, "YOU KNEW THE WHOLE TIME?" He yelled, turning to Mycroft, "And you didn't just have to mention, 'Oh hello John, I should tell you that your best friend lied to you and the entire country and is alive.'"

"It was necessary." Mycroft said simply.

"Necessary!" John repeated in disbelief.

"Told you he would take it like this." Lestrade said to Sherlock.

"You knew as well then?" John spat at Lestrade.

"No, no. I just found out as well." Lestrade answered, holding his hands up in defense.

"Tell them." Mycroft pushed.

"Alright, alright." Sherlock said, "But you should clean up that wound first John."

John yanked the cloth out of Sherlock's hand and wincing slightly, he pressed it onto his cut.

"There, that wasn't so hard now was it?" Sherlock asked, smiling at the group, who glared back. Sherlock's smile faltered and he cleared his throat.

"Alright, well it was done quite simply." Sherlock began, speaking fast. "I arranged for you to get a call that Mrs. Hudson had been shot and you scurried off to help her. Meanwhile, I called Molly Hooper, she prepared the truck while I met with Moriarty. I knew what he had planed to do. 'The fall'" Sherlock muttered to himself, "I knew it met more then that."

"Sorry, what?" John asked. Sherlock noticed his left hand shaking violently.

"Moriarty said I would take a plunge, it was simple enough to workout." Sherlock said quickly, he needed John to understand.

"So I went to the top of the Hospital and talked with Moriarty. He gave me an ultimatum. If I didn't pretend I was a fake and kill myself, then he would kill you, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson. I didn't expect that portion, but adapted, because Molly Hooper was waiting, and so I attempted to stop Moriarty from making me jump, however, he killed himself. Shot in the head. So therefore, I had no choice. So then I called you, and I jumped. Mrs. Hooper had set a mattress there, I landed, quite perfectly."

"Then Molly and I replaced the mattress with my dead body, while I ensured that you were distracted by getting hit by a bike, courtesy of Sergeant Donovan. Then Molly drove the van a block away and we waited for the fiasco to die down, we saw them pulling you away from my dead body, and there you have it."

"And you just happened to have a extra dead body laying around, do you?" John spat.

"No," Said Sherlock impatiently, "I had made it weeks ago, in preparation for this. I didn't however think it would be necessary."

"And how did you do that?" Lestrade asked, "make a dead body?"

"With DNA you can do anything." Sherlock said, standing up and beginning to pace. "We need to get out of here before more of Moriarty's men arrive. Inspector," Sherlock turned to Lestrade, "Call Sergeant Donovan and explain the situation, she will know what to do." Lestrade nodded and stepped out to make the call. "Mycroft, you have to go back, I'll be calling you shortly." Mycroft swept from the room.

"Where's he going?" John asked.

"Back to work. Now, Mrs. Hudson- I need you to stay here, tie up these men and take their guns, hide them in a drawer, and call the station. Tell them you have a break-in, and they can take them away. Understand?"

Mrs. Hudson looked around the room then nodded, "Where are you going?"

"To have a little chat with an old friend." Sherlock responded, "Come on John, we are running out of time." Sherlock pulled open the door and walked out onto the landing. John stayed where he was, looking uncertain. Sherlock turned around again, "John, I know it seems impossible to trust me right now, but if you will, I need you help." John took a deep breath and followed Sherlock out of the flat.

A taxi pulled in front of a house that looked oddly familiar to John. They got out and Sherlock ran up the steps to the door. He knocked and a face appeared. A woman's face. The face of a woman with bright red hair and a sly smile, however, Kitty Riley was not smiling now. She attempted to close the door but Sherlock stopped her.

"We need to talk." Sherlock said, pushing open the door and striding into the reporters house.

"No… no… no…" Riley said, backing away from them, "This can't be," She said, sounding scared, "Your supposed to be dead!" She shrieked.

"Well I'm not so let's get down to the point." Sherlock said nonchalantly, staring directly into her eyes. "You sent them didn't you?"

"Sent who? How are you alive?" Her voice got higher as she walked toward the door. John stood in front of it. Riley backed away from John this time, and tripped over some boxes.

"The snipers," Sherlock said, not breaking his gaze.

"Wh-what snipers?" Her voice cracked, "This is ridiculous!"

"No. Not really. But killing someone is." Sherlock said.

"Wait, who did she kill?" John asked, looking at Sherlock now. Using Sherlock's momentary distraction, Riley slipped her phone from her inside pocket and pressed a red button. Smiling slightly, she turned back to Sherlock who was giving John a quick explanation.

"Now, you killed David Levage." Sherlock said

"Who?" Riley asked

"He worked in the British government and he was on to you so you killed him. It was devilishly cleaver, but I naturally saw right through it. Anyone who knew Jim Morarity knew who he really was. You knew perfectly well he wasn't Richard Brooks. So, the only conclusion was that you were working with him. I didn't know he worked with others, you must be special." Sherlock said, not pausing once for breath.

"Oh, your good." Riley said, dropping her petrified expression, "You got everything right." She was smirking at them now, "There's just one problem."

"Oh?" Sherlock raised his eyebrows.

Two red dots appeared on John and Sherlock's chest, "I'm the new consulting criminal and I can't let you leave this room alive."

John glanced at Sherlock to see his reaction and was surprised to see that Sherlock was smiling. John couldn't see for the life of him why this was funny but he really hoped that Sherlock had a plan.

"You? The new consulting criminal? How long do you think that is going to last?" Sherlock said, smirking.

"I have the key codes…" Riley said with pride.

"Ohhhh." Sherlock gasped with mock surprise, "and you think you can beat me. How sad is that?"

"Sherlock-" John said

"Morarity made you in charge? Is that was he does now, he delegates?"

"No." Came a voice from behind Sherlock, "I just like playing dead, just like you."

….

"What's the address?" Lestrade asked as Donovan got into the car.

"2346, Brixton Avenue." Sally said. Lestrade pulled out of his parking space at the station and got on the main road.

"So, you knew the whole time? And I'm guessing he told you not to tell me, what- for my own safety?"

"Yes," Sally said, "I was surprised that he pulled it off. I didn't think he was going to do it."

"Yes, well, I assume you and Molly had a nice good laugh about that. Did Molly tell you how he got a fake body?" Lestrade turned on the next street.

"DNA. That's all she said, was Sherlock compiled his own DNA and Molly helped."

"Like Irene Adler." Lestrade muttered, more to himself.

"Yeah, and he just disappeared." Sally said thoughtfully, "but I still don't know if we can trust him."

"Really?" Asked Lestrade, "After all he's done to save all our lives, and you still think he's a fake?"

"Well, you have to admit, the whole situation was a bit dodgy." Sally argued.

"That's what Morarity wanted the world to believe, and you wanted any excuse to be rid of him so you swallowed the lie whole." Lestrade said.

"Maybe your right…" Donovan said, "But how is he going to convince the press of that?"

"I have no idea…" Lestrade said, hitting the gas and driving down the next street.

….

John glanced back, and then turned around sharply, "I don't believe it." Said John in a would-be-calm sort of voice.

"You." Sherlock snarled, "How?"

"I say the same to you. You were supposed to die, Sherlock, you really were." Jim Morarity said, striding into the room.

"So were you, I saw you die…" Sherlock said, his voice faltering. John noticed for the second time that Sherlock was uncertain and scared.

"Oh well, things happen…. Deaths can be faked, and now you really do have to die. Honestly, you're getting really annoying." Morarity hissed, stepping closer to him.

"And what, you're also going to convince the world that you're alive?"

"That's the plan, Rich Brooks can come back… I'm staying alive Sherlock, wile you… well." Morarity smiled wider then ever. "I still have time to hurt you."

At this, both laser points landed on Watson's chest.

"No." Sherlock said fear in his eyes now.

"Alright boys," Morarity said into a walkie talkie, "Fire away."

The next few moments seemed to pass in slow motion. Sherlock lunged for John and they toppled out of sight right as a bullet shot past their heads. Morarity lunged for Sherlock and Riley for John.

John struggled with Riley while the red dots attempted to find John again. Just as a second shot was fired, John pulled Riley in front of him and she was hit directly in the chest. The force of the bullet and her body threw John back as she fell on top of him.

Meanwhile, Sherlock punched Morarity in the face. He staggered to his feat and saw Riley dead next to John. His eyes grew wide and he fled from the scene. Sherlock took a few passes toward John and fell to his knees. Sherlock struggled toward John, hoping against hope that he wasn't dead.

"John?" Sherlock shook his shoulder, John stayed motionless. Sherlock dragged Riley's body off John and took a large breath.

"John… no…" Sherlock said, he slumped over, not wanting to believe what he was seeing. "It's all my fault, John, I am so sorry." Sherlock said, grabbing John's arm, "I wanted to protect you, and my mistakes got you killed." Sherlock took a deep breath, "You were my best friend and I am so sorry… I-" Sherlock felt a tear fall gradually down his cheek. "You're my only friend…"

"Lets not be to premature about this…" John said from the ground. He opened his eyes and groaned.

"John!" Sherlock jumped to his feet.

"I wasn't shot," John said as Sherlock helped him to his feet, "this isn't my blood, it's hers." John gestured to Riley. "She just knocked me out with the force of the bullet and her body, didn't you check my pulse?" John asked, rubbing his head.

"No, I-" Sherlock began, and then he heard footsteps on the stairs. Lestrade burst through the doors, followed by Donovan, Anderson, and Mycroft.

"What in the ruddy hell happened here?" Lestrade asked, looking from a John, to the dead Riley, and to Sherlock with tears in his eyes.

"Morarity." Sherlock said.

"What?" Lestrade said, stunned.

"I'll explain later, but we should get John to the hospital. He's hurt."

"Sherlock, don't make such a fuss, I'm fine." John said, "she just knocked me over and I hit my head, that's all. And-" John stopped when he saw a deep cut in Sherlock's arm. "My god, Sherlock- did you get shot?"

"It just grazed my arm I'm fine." Sherlock said dismissively.

"No you not, your in shock, here-" John advanced toward Sherlock, and ripped the sleeve off of his own shirt and began to clean the wound. Sherlock winced slightly.

"Don't tell me your going to give me another shock blanket, honestly, I'm fine." Sherlock said, pushing his hand away.

"No." John said firmly, "Stay still, you owe me that much." There was something in John voice that made Sherlock stay where he was.

Two hours later, John and Sherlock left Riley's house and headed home. The taxi driver was reluctant to give them a ride because he was afraid they were going to get blood on the seats. They finally arrived at Baker Street and went inside. Mrs. Hudson was waiting for them.

"Oh boys!" She said, pulling them both into a tight hug.

"It's alright, Mrs. Hudson, were all fine." John said. Mrs. Hudson whipped the tears from her eyes and led them into their flat.

"I tried to clean it up as much as possible." Mrs. Hudson said, "What with all the blood and furniture around."

"Thank you, now leave us." Sherlock said. Mrs. Hudson looked taken aback, but decided not to respond. She left, closing the door behind her.

"Sherlock, that was kind of rude." John said.

"Oh she'll get over it, we have more important things to worry about."

"Like what?"

"Like how to get to Morality." Sherlock replied, pacing the room feverishly.

"Can't that wait, Sherlock-" John said, "you look dead on your feet."?

"Mmm?" Sherlock said turning to him, "no, I'm fine."

"So, Morarity, how did he do it? How did he live?"

"A pack of blood, a fake gun. It was easy enough to figure out. He just used a fake gun to imitate the blast, it set of a button when he pulled the trigger and the pack of blood behind his head burst open." Sherlock said, pacing again.

"And you still do not fail to amaze me." John said, "But what about Mycroft?"

"What about him?"

"His job, the press, Morarity's inside men, how is that gonna work out?"

"Oh Mycroft should get his job back. And as for the men working for Riley, well, my best assumption is that they withdrew their positions and fled. They know that Morarity is alive, however Riley is dead and they will have to re-group."

"Oh." John said.

"And as for the press, well, lets just say my brother is having a nice long chat with them now about Riley and he entire conspiracy. So that should be cleared up nicely in the morning." Sherlock said.

"Then why do you look so sad, I mean, it's over right?"

"No…" Sherlock said, "no, it's not, Morarity got away… and he'll be back."

They sat in a few moments silence mulling over the situation then John said in a quiet voice, " Well, thanks."

"For what?" Sherlock said, he stopped pacing and sat in the chair by his desk.

"For saving my life, and those things you said, about me being your friend. It meant a lot." John said, glancing shyly up at him.

"Well they were true, and I thought you were dead at the time." Sherlock said, smiling slightly. John grinned, and then they both burst out laughing.

"What a day." John said through fits of giggles.

"Indeed." Sherlock said, grinning.

"Hey, Sherlock-" John said.

"Mm?"

"If you ever die on me again, I'm going to kill you." John said, smiling at him.

"I'll try not to." Sherlock said heaving a huge sigh, "Dinner?"

"I'm starved. Chinese?" John asked, getting to his feet.

"My thoughts exactly." Sherlock said, grabbing his coat and scarf and sweeping from the room once more.

The two Detectives trotted downstairs and into the night, knowing that with each other by their side, they could accomplish anything.

END.


End file.
